my careless contagion

Thinking about this space where I spent so much time and expended so much mental and emotional energy, I can't help but liken it to something. I wrote an awful lot about a girl here. I was quite taken with her. I fell in love with her, and that love burst forth on these pages, year after year. I am still in love with her, though I know her differently now.  I wrote, not knowing whether she ever saw a word. I believed she did, and that's why I continued to write for so many years. This was my message in a bottle.  With a message in a bottle, we're never sure if it reaches its intended destination, if the one person in the world we want to read it actually does. I never knew. Did she ever feel those things I felt for her? Did she know how much I truly loved her? Did she read once or a hundred times or not at all? Did it make any difference what I said or didn't say? The hours I spent crafting my words, did it change anything? Did it make her bad days more tolerable? Were ...

A used condom. That's what I saw. That's what sparked this post.  I was hiking around a place called the Rock Maze not far from where I live. It's a place for fun and games and illicit activities such as recreational drug use. And, apparently, sex in the dirt. Oh, and it's a rock maze. I walked around a cliff face and saw a used condom in the dirt. It's nothing I hadn't seen before but didn't expect to see the evidence of someone's fun at that particular moment. As I shook my head and walked away, I thought of how my idea of sex has changed in the last few years. It used to be so common, so throw-away. Like that errant condom. It's strange how something that used to be so common can now seem so precious. When I think of sex, I think of one woman. And I can't even think of having sex with her in the dirt and leaving the condom behind. Really, I just want to hold her hand. Let's face it. Sex can be anything we want it to be. As lon...

Like a gift, you've given your body to me. I don't take this precious thing you've put in my hands lightly. I will not drop you. I will not break you. You've been dropped too many times, my dear, and it will take your heart a long time to know I won't drop you too.  Don't for a moment think I don't know what it means for you to give me your body like this. My fingers trace the scars on your heart where you were broken and betrayed. I know you're putting your heart on the line once again and expecting the same. But I will not drop you, and I won't betray you. My heart clings to yours, and if I dropped yours, I'd drop mine too. We're tangled together and wrapped around each other with a love that has no beginning and no end.  I've studied your curves all day long. I try and fail to contain my gazes to when you've looked away, but you know I've been undressing you all day. So as my mouth tastes your mouth and my hands ...

For my first 20 years, I thought I'd never be in a relationship and certainly never thought I'd have sex ... mainly because I thought I'd never be in a relationship. And I wasn't the kind of guy who could have casual sex.  Then I enjoyed sex (with all its ups and downs) in spite of myself and the many marital troubles I had for many years. I thought things would continue that way. Naturally, after my separation, the sex ceased. This seemed like new territory for me, but it was just a return to my pre-relationship life. I fought the idea that I've come to accept now: that I will never have sex again. Here's why. I can't, or won't, have sex with a woman I'm not in love with. There's only one woman I love enough to have sex with. She's not in my life. It's a simple equation. No girl = no sex.  Then there's the fact that I'm pretty sure everything stopped working down there. That's a new thing, too. Of course, I have ...

  The light hasn't risen outside. I'm tired, but waking next to you makes my whole day seem possible. I can't wait to get this day over with so I can fall back in bed with you, tired as always, but where I want to be.  It feels like your body is on fire. How can such warmth emanate from such a tiny girl? My fingers trace your thigh. Stopping briefly on your hip, I pull you closer to meet my hungry body. My hands continue up your side, under your arm, and find a home cupping your chest. Oh, but they aren't done. They're just resting until you wake in my arms.  The little noises you make in your sleep are perfect, just like you. Everything you do makes me feel at home and at ease.  Somehow, in the deadness of sleep, you feel my intentions. You pull from me with sleepy reluctance at first but fall back against me with finality. We are one body, one flesh, and one thought right now. Before the day pulls us apart, I ravish you in the stillness of the morning....

  I imagine us like animals, groping with dumb hands and exhaling fire, fixated on each other. If the world were to end, we wouldn't even know. We'd be madly making love like this.  I see myself obsessively, passionately, rapturously handling you. It's always from behind, as if I saw your face, it would be over in seconds. And I want this to last. I want to feel like I've gone to the edge with you and returned, sweaty and tired but proud. Your face turns enough for me to see your eyes closed tight, and my mouth rushes to meet yours, but you turn away again. Your body is clothed in odd sections, unclothed in the only way that matters right now — underwear still clinging to one foot, skirt on the bed, blouse and bra still on, and my favorite necklace gathering moisture on your neck.  The ache is a whole-body ache. The inevitable release is like a perfect spring day after a long winter, like finishing a grueling race, like souls crashing together. It's explosi...

These hands move over her like pleasure-seeking precision instruments. My palms sweat and glide over her hot skin. In the dim light, I watch her take in a breath and bite her lip, her face contorting in pleasure.  As I press against her body, she writhes in my hands. Her breathing quickens, she gasps, moans, groans, and then her eyes open. Our eyes inhale each other. Our minds ponder the same question. And we're hopeless in each other's arms.  Her shirt comes off, and so does mine. Somehow our flesh seems like it's on fire. When I touch her, my skin wants to stay on her. It's like I'm trying to become her.  I part her legs and lean in to kiss her. She stops me for a moment as my intentions become clear. Kissing her makes me ache. Touching her isn't enough. Our breath is hot on each other's faces and necks. I kiss her chest, her eyes, her ears, her neck, her shoulders, her fingertips. She's one big erogenous zone, and nothing is neglect...

Thinking about making love to anyone but her is terrifying. She's the only thing that makes sense; she's the only one I want.  Thinking about having sex with her is like running out of air in five seconds and clawing for the surface of the water so I can breathe again. Everything goes black; everything short circuits. Just imagining being in the same room with her makes my whole body burn. Imagining being with her with her clothes off makes my head spin. Imaging sex with her ... isn't possible. I'll tear down the mountains and burn down the skies. I'll set fire to every household between us. I'll shake the stars from the dark night, take the sun and set it free from its path. There is such intensity running through me, I break, I sputter, I curse and I mutter. But there is nothing to be done. I am simply spinning my wheels, wishing for something that I cannot have. I'm beginning to wonder if I've simply lost my grip on reality. I'm in lov...